


Sometimes You Fly

by uschickens



Category: Supernatural, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Fairy Tale pastiche, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-29
Updated: 2008-03-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8013139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uschickens/pseuds/uschickens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a boy set out on a quest to save his brother. The boy's companions on this quest were a car, a bird, and a little cove on the coast of California about an hour and a half (with good traffic) from Palo Alto. (It preferred to be called Reginald.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Fly

**Author's Note:**

> May, in fact, be entirely incomprehensible if you are unfamiliar with Neil Gaiman's Sandman series of graphic novels. Written towards the end of season three of Supernatural. 50% oblique references to both canons; 50% fairy tale pastiche.

Once upon a time, a boy set out on a quest to save his brother. (Not that boy and that brother. The other way round. I assume you know how his brother saved the boy in the first place.)

The quest didn’t take very long, or so it seemed; the boy went to bed the night that his brother was taken away to pay his debt, and when he woke up the next morning, his brother was returned to him. However, if you asked the boy after the fact, he would tell you that his quest lasted quite a long time. (Perhaps a year and a day?) His brother would snort and tell you that the boy is a lazy fuck who just likes to sleep late. The boy would likely punch his brother at this point.

The boy’s companions on his quest were a car, a bird, and a little cove on the coast of California about an hour and a half (with good traffic) from Palo Alto. (It preferred to be called Reginald.) The boy had only seen Reginald once while awake, when he was twelve, and he’d never been able to find Reginald again, no matter how hard he looked. Reginald found him, when the time came for it.

The bird was not Matthew. The bird’s name was Ash. The boy made a noise almost like a sob when the bird first landed on his shoulder and picked up right where their last conversation had left off. The boy wasn’t sad, though. He’d gotten over being sad three hundred and sixty-four days previously, with a very conscious effort. No, the boy was happy, because Ash-the-bird meant Ash-the-man had died while dreaming. The boy could only hope to be so lucky himself one day.

The car needs no introduction. If she does, you are reading the wrong story.

 

***

 

The three of them set off from the motel where the boy’s brother had last slept. Their first stop was a piano bar in Los Angeles. The pianist beamed and called the boy “my child,” which vexed and terrified the boy in equal measures. Ash and the car wanted to fight, to make the piano player give them the information they needed, but Reginald firmly recommended otherwise. Luckily for all concerned, the boy listened to Reginald, and everyone left the piano bar with all the limbs with which they had entered, plus a little more knowledge than they had before.

They left Lux (for that was the piano bar’s name) in that hazy time before the end of night but after the start of day. The first morning star just peeked over the horizon.

That was the first day.

The boy did not count the days in regular order. He counted the days - or mostly nights - that took him closer to his goal and his brother. He counted the day he found Azazel in a little bottle on a shelf in the back of a library, yellow eyes furious. The bottle had no opening. The boy smiled. That was two.

 

***

 

Somewhere between days thirty-five and forty, the girl with the fish on a leash and a talking dog joined them. The boy did not count any days while she was with them, but after she left, he counted six days at once.

On the day before the girl with the fish showed up, the boy had been afraid he was hallucinating. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman following them. At first she was just barely at the edge of his vision, almost over the edge of the horizon, but as the day dragged on, she got closer and closer until he could almost feel her breath on the back of his neck. When he turned to look at her directly, she was never there. If the boy stared at Ash flitting through the sky or Reginald paying courtly attendance on the car, he could almost see her clearly, there at the end. She was short and naked, her eyes and hair and skin all different shades of nothing. Her body was almost as scarred as his, but no outside hand had caused her wounds. She whispered to him through the long nights of the day on which she approached.

As the day drew to a close and she came closer and closer, the boy moved slower and slower. Ash and Reginald pleaded with him to move faster, yelled at him, and the car tried simply dragging him along, tucked underneath her arm safe like when he was little, but the boy’s feet dragged even heavier, and the woman got even closer. He closed his eyes on the last night of that day, and he could feel the hot breath of her whisper on his ear, inhale the snakeskin smell of her shadow.

 

***

 

When he opened his eyes again, the woman was gone, and a girl stood in front of him. She beamed at him, one blue eye and one green, both merry and a little mad. She patted his cheek with the hand not holding her fish’s leash.

“My sister is greedy and doesn’t like to share,” she said. “But it’s my turn with you, mine. It’s only right that I get you now.” She nodded firmly.

The boy wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

She slipped her hand into his, tugged him to his feet, and said, “We have to hurry. We have far too many adventures to pack in before my time with you is up.” Not knowing what else to do, the boy followed.

(It must be said that Ash and the girl greeted each other like the old friends that they were.)

 

***

 

After the six days after the girl left, the boy remembered his dedication and his drive to find his brother, and he resumed his quest with even more determination. His third visitor (or possibly tour guide) came to him not long after, and the boy would find himself lost in memories of his brother. The arch of his cheekbone, the spray of freckles across his back, the curve of his ass, the scarred expanse of his bare chest with the tattoo that matched the boy’s own - the boy’s breath caught when he thought of these things. When he remembered these things, how they felt, how they tasted. When he closed his eyes, he could hear his brother’s voice. If he listened very closely, he could hear another voice underneath, neither male nor female but both.

At first his companions left him alone when he remembered, perhaps out of some misguided notion of privacy or respect for grief. When they discovered what what he was actually doing while, uh, remembering, Reginald blushed delicately, the car gave her low rumble of a laugh, and Ash teased him for days. Ash’s loud, cawing laughter cut through the noise of that other voice, and the quartet moved on. If the boy was a little more focused, a little more intent on finding his brother, if his brother’s loss seemed that much fresher all of a sudden, the boy knew who to thank. He/she murmured in his ear one more time, reminding him of that debt. The boy flushed all over.

 

***

 

Still they pressed on. As the days flowed by, they gathered more and more information, a box of dots some of which needed to be connected. Other dots led them astray down long paths of nonexistent days, connecting in circles or shapeless blobs. The boy marked these carefully in his journal, then destroyed them. Finally, the boy found the dot that led them all to Hell.

Hell was surprisingly organized. At a word from Ash - who looked enough like other ravens to be mistaken for one that even Ash would admit was a bit more important than he was - they were escorted to rulers of hell. Remiel spoke for them both.

“We are surprised it has taken you this long,” he said, slow and kind. “After your conversation with our, ah, predecessor, we prepared for your imminent arrival. We are pleased to see that you have arrived unharmed.”

The boy’s mind positively whirled. Pieces began falling into place. He remembered Azazel, destroyed and impotent. He remembered all the demons they had ever met. He remembered their fear and hatred of hell. He looked around the impeccably organized and spotless office in which he and his friends now sat. He shuddered.

“My brother, can you take me to him?” he asked eventually.

Duma smiled, and Remiel spoke. “Of course. If you will follow us?”

***

The boy never wishes to remember what he saw next.

***

When he found his voice again, he asked, “What- what will it take for you to let him go?”

Duma smiled again, beatifically, and Remiel sighed gently. “We do not keep him here. He keeps himself here. We only provide what souls are seeking - a path to salvation and redemption. He chooses the method of that path himself.”

The boy made the noise like a sob again, and only Reginald’s iron grip on the car’s arm kept her from doing something they all would likely regret in the future but desperately wanted at the moment. Ash dove at the angels’ heads, shrieking and clawing, but they brushed him aside.

Over Ash’s spitting invective, the boy asked, “So he is free to leave at any time? I can walk in there and walk out again with him?”

“He is free to leave when his soul is satisfied,” Remiel corrected kindly. “We would be happy to let you know the instant that happens.”

The girl with the fish slipped her hand in his again and led him away. When he knew himself again, he found himself sitting on a park bench. “I think it’s time you talked with my sister. My other sister. Sometimes it’s a pain, having a big family, but mostly I like it,” the girl with the fish said, her words appearing to him like speech bubbles in cartoons. He looked around, but he didn’t see the girl anywhere.

 

***

 

“My little sister has an irrepressible sense of dramatics, I must admit.” A woman with dark hair sat next to him. “Even when it’s kinda annoying, she’s often right.” The woman peeked a grin at him from the corner of her mouth.

The boy stared at her. “I...know you, don’t I,” he said, not asking a question.

Her grin grew into a full-blown laugh. “We hung out for a day or so about a year ago, yeah. And I see you around a lot.”

He smiled back. He liked her already. He glanced out across the park. Ash was hassling some pigeons, and Reginald and the car stood close to the fountain, out of earshot but watching him closely.

She followed his gaze. “You have good friends.” She patted his hand. “The four of you have come a long way together. Still, though, you could probably use a little clarification.”

The boy nodded sharply. “Were they right? Is my brother stuck there of his own free will?”

She hmmmmed thoughtfully. “Free will’s a sticky subject, particularly back there, but the simple answer is yes and no.” She elbowed him. “Don’t look at me like that; I get enough of that from my own brother. Yes, your brother chose to be in Hell. No, your brother does not have the choice, the free will to leave. He chose to give that up.”

“For me,” the boy whispered.

“Yep,” she said. “Them’s the breaks.”

“So can he leave? Ever? Is there someone I can...talk with to get him out?” The boy clenched his fists on his knees, caught between the desire to run and the desire to hurt things.

The woman placed a hand on his arm. “Easy there, kiddo. You look a little too much like my itinerant brother for my comfort. Ripping the world to shreds won’t bring your brother back.”

“Then what will?” The boy’s voice cracked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s not my line of work.” They sat in silence for a long moment, the boy watching her feed the pigeons.

“Your brother’s a tough guy,” she said after a while. “I don’t think this is the end of him.” At his look, she grinned. “Yeah, I know him. We’ve met several times. One time I thought he was going to stick around, but that choice was taken away from him.” Her face darkened. “I’m sorry for that. The choice was his, but a momentary lapse of attention on my part allowed it to be taken away. I am not usually, hm, interfered with in quite that way.”

“I’m not sorry,” the boy said, voice even more broken. “It gave me two more years with him.” He knew who she was, then.

“Even at that cost?” she asked.

He couldn’t meet her eyes, but he nodded.

She nodded in return, seemingly satisfied. “Your whole family never did rest easy with me. Either too eager or too reluctant by half. I am what I am, and just remember this - you each get what everyone gets: a lifetime.”

She dusted her hands and lap off, sending the last few crumbs pigeonward, and stood. “I gotta be off. Duty calls and all. It was good seeing you again. I’m sure we’ll meet later.”

She started to walk away towards the pigeons now clustering around the fountain, then seemed to think better of it. She turned back to the boy. “I like you, kiddo, so let me tell you one more thing. I haven’t seen your brother in two years. It’s worth thinking about.” She winked at him.

His breath caught, and his eyes closed. He knew exactly what she meant. As she walked again, he heard the sound of birds’ wings taking flight.

 

***

 

Somewhere, a blind man turned a page in a book chained to his arm. He turned the page backward.

 

***

 

The boy and his companions fought their way back to Hell. The journey was not so easy this time. When they arrived, bleeding and battered and unbroken, they did not wait to be escorted. The boy led them straight to his brother. Ash kept watch while Reginald and the car guarded the door. The boy knelt beside his brother, his knees quickly soaked through with blood. He touched his cheek, and after a long moment, his brother’s eyes opened.

He called his brother’s name three times, and his brother finally focused on him. “It’s time to come home,” the boy said, fingers soft on the ruin of his brother’s face. “It’s time to go.”

His brother gave a cracked-lip smile. “I’d love to, but you know I can’t. Live a good life for me.” His eyes started to close again.

The boy tightened his grip. “Yes, you can. You agreed to come here, and you have, but they have to play by the rules of here just as much as you do. If you are penitent, if you are rehabilitated, if you have sought and found salvation, you can leave, and they can’t stop you. Duma and Remiel won’t let them.”

His brother stared at him fiercely, ignoring the red tears he wept unconsciously. “I don’t regret a thing. Not ever.” He tried to grab the boy’s hand.

The boy slid his hand into his brother’s and held tight. “Not like that, dumbass. Not that. Just-” he pressed his lips to his brother’s forehead. “Just let me save you. Let me be your salvation.”

His brother smiled again. “Every goddamn day.”

 

***

 

The blind man turned a page again, this time forward. A new page was written before his sightless eyes.

 

***

 

On the morning of the first day after his brother was taken, the boy woke in the ratty motel he left so many days ago. His brother was asleep and breathing steadily in his arms, whole and unbroken. He glanced out the window; the car was in her old place right outside their door. A raven was perched above her right headlight, but when he blinked to focus more closely, the bird was gone. He wrapped himself more tightly around his brother, then fell back asleep, dreaming of a small cove on the coast of California where he and his brother build sandcastles when they were barely still children.

 

Fin


End file.
